


Down in the Dungeons to Play

by PhoenixTorte



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bondage, Light Bondage, M/M, Rimming, Spanking
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-29
Updated: 2014-01-29
Packaged: 2018-01-10 12:04:42
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,606
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1159534
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixTorte/pseuds/PhoenixTorte
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry decides to snoop and spy on the Slytherins. He finds out something unexpected, and takes appropriate actions.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Down in the Dungeons to Play

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for beta-ing, Broken Anchor! I managed to get everything in from the prompt, including chains, shackles, spanking, a black silk tie, and a shocked Potions Professor. We're assuming that Snape's teaching Potions again in the boy's seventh year.
> 
> Originally posted on my LiveJournal and fanfiction.net account.

 

* * *

"Sod  _off_ , Malfoy!"

Malfoy only planted his feet, and pursed his lips in silent fury. The air between him and Harry seemed to crackle in tension and anger. A crowd gathered around them to witness the fight just outside the Great Hall. Exited whispers cycled through the crowd as the spectators exchanged bets on the latest Potter-Malfoy fight.

" _Five on Potter winning!"_

" _No way! Ten that Malfoy wins, but gets a good shiner from Potter."_

" _Fifteen a teacher breaks it up before there can be a winner."_

The Hufflepuff that placed the last bet looked as though he would win as the professors Snape and McGonagal shouldered their way through the densely packed students. It was slow going, and Harry and Malfoy had thrown themselves at each other in a flurry of fists and kicking feet that feral alley cats would envy before they got to them.

"Potter!" Snape bellowed, reaching into the fray and pulling the two seventh year boys apart. It took them a moment to stop attempting to strangle each other and realized that a very irate Potion's professor had them by the collars. Malfoy managed to summon a chagrined look when he realized who was holding him away from Harry, but Harry only transferred the focus of his glower from Malfoy to Snape.

"Gerroff me, you bas-"

"Twenty-five points from Gryffindor!" Snape cut in. "How dare you fight in the corridors like common hoodlums! Are you seven or seventeen?"

"Potter started it," Malfoy pointed out.

"You bumped into me."

"Not on purpose, you great blind git!"

"Enough!" the Potions professor snapped. "Detention for both of you, and twenty points from each of you for fighting."

"Hey!" Harry protested. "You took more points off me than you did off Malfoy."

"Need I remind you what you were about to call me a mere few seconds ago?" Snape pointed out.

Harry coloured. Even he knew to have more respect for a professor. "Er, sorry."

Snape snorted. "Your punishment still stands. Don't be late-detention starts at six o'clock tomorrow, in my classroom. You will follow me now, Mr Malfoy." He turned and stalked off, his robes billowing behind him. Malfoy followed him, meek and quiet for once.

"Blimey, mate." Harry started at realizing that Ron had materialized at his elbow. "What'd the ferret do to you? It's not usual for you to let him get to you like that. You've really been on edge around him for the last few weeks."

It was true. For some reason, the last month had been full of little altercations like this one, where the very sight of Malfoy's pale, delicate face would make Harry's stomach roil uneasily, until he sought to settle it with a fight, where adrenaline pumped and there was the satisfying thud of flesh meeting flesh. Oh, yes, these days Harry found himself picking fights with the flimsiest of excuses.

"I don't know," Harry said. "He doesn't need to do anything to make me mad."

Ron nodded sagely. "That's Malfoy for you."

Harry scowled down into his cauldron. ' _Stupid cauldron,'_ he thought.  _'How dare you be so gross and slimy?'_

Harry and Malfoy had been in detention for two and a half hours already and even Malfoy's status as the professor's favourite hadn't spared him. Every so often, Harry would hear Malfoy muttering deprecations under his breath. Harry rather liked the creative way he had cast aspersions upon Professor Snape's heritage.

After what seemed like hours, Snape finally dismissed them, and Harry fled. He managed to get almost the whole way to the stairs before he realized that he had left his bag back in the classroom. His bag with several assignments and a Marauders' map. Groaning, he turned back to get it.

Snape was just locking the classroom door when he arrived.

"Forgot my bag, Professor," Harry panted. "Need it for class tomorrow."

"Hurry, then. I haven't all night."

Harry ducked past Snape and grabbed his bag from where he left it. Once back in the hall, Snape finished locking up and swept off in a flurry of robes, probably to look for some sensitive little first years to scar for life.

Which left Harry alone. In the middle of the dungeons.

He would cackle and rub his hands together, but that would be obvious, wouldn't it?

It was easy to find his way to the Slytherin common room, and once there to check the Marauder map for any interruptions. A moment later, he had summoned his invisibility cloak, and was safely hidden outside the entrance. An hour later, and his feet were starting to go numb from the cold.

' _Ah, finally!'_  he thought in triumph when a smug Zabini approached the entrance. From his swollen lips and mussed clothes, it was easy to guess what had kept him. Harry slipped into the dungeon common room right behind the Slytherin boy.

With it being so close to curfew, the common room had a fair amount of Slytherins lounging about on the armchairs and couches. Harry took a moment to congratulate himself for getting into the common room undetected, and then jumped out of the way of a group of third-years. Obviously it would be unwise to linger in front of the door.

Harry scanned the room, looking for a familiar blond head. Since he was here, he really should prank Malfoy. After all, the Slytherin common room was where Malfoy would feel the safest from vengeful Gryffindor rivals.

Harry didn't see him though, and was about to give up on finding him and pick some other hapless Slytherin to annoy when he made out the distinct sound of Malfoy's voice behind him. Spinning around, he spotted Malfoy coming down from the dormitory, complaining about something to Parkinson and the two gorillas he always had in tow. His heart suddenly pounding, Harry followed them to a rather deserted corner of the room, where Malfoy threw himself into an armchair. He stared desolately off into the distance while his entourage settled themselves around him. Malfoy might have pouted the whole night if Parkinson hadn't spoken up.

"Darling," she said in a sickly sweet voice. "What has you so bothered now? Potter again?"

"Of course it's Potter," he said sulkily. "Every time the prat sees me he tries to rearrange my face."

Parkinson giggled. Harry reflected briefly that a when a girl with a visage like Parkinson giggled, it was rather disturbing. Although, it was nothing compared to the next words out of her mouth.

"Really, I thought you would be glad that he was finally paying attention to you."

Harry choked as Malfoy only sighed pensively. "Yeah, but I didn't quite have him beating me into a bloody pulp in mind."

One of the gorillas said stupidly, "Why not?". Harry was too dumbfounded by the idea that Malfoy wanted his attention to figure out if it was Crabbe or Goyle. "I thought you said…"

"Shut it," Malfoy said irritably. "Sod off." Crabbe and Goyle obediently meandered off.

Pansy didn't let the subject drop, for which Harry was eternally grateful. "They're right, you know. Isn't that sort of a thing in keeping with those fantasies of yours?"

Malfoy waved his hand in dismissal. "There's a difference in wanting to be brutalized and wanting to be dominated."

Harry's eyebrows practically crawled up into his hairline. Parkinson nicely clarified Malfoy's intentions.

"I still don't see why you're interested in him, Draco. You could have so many other guys. It's not like they don't want to shag you." She studied her nails. "A lot of girls want you, too."

"Yeah," Malfoy said. "But its Potter I want."

Harry tuned out of the conversation at this point. It wasn't everyday that you heard that a long-time enemy confessing that he wanted to shag you. In a daze, he wandered over to the common room entrance, scaring some first years when the entrance opened at his croaked password with no one apparently at the entrance.

He was lucky that he made it all the way up to the tower without getting caught, he was so stunned. But as he lay in bed that night, he began to get the inkling of a plan.

If it was attention Malfoy wanted, it was attention he was going to get.

Draco slept fitfully that night, and woke jittery, with aching eyes and pallid skin. His dream unsettled him, haunted by warm satin sliding against his skin and a hot mouth on his body, sensuous and teasing. The mouth went from giving and soft to cruel and hard and Draco awoke with mocking laughter in his ears. He clutched his pillow beneath him as he jolted awake, uneasy with cold, wet sheets sticking to him. Sleeping naked had its advantages, sometimes.

He was in a foul mood, even without having to worry about dirty pyjamas. He took care of his morning ablutions and fixed his hair. Throwing his assignments into his bag, he stomped down to breakfast. His fellow Slytherins knew that when he was in this sort of mood it was best to stay out of his way. Therefore, when the flying note hit him in the back of his head at breakfast, hardly any of his classmates witnessed his elbow's ignominious descent into his oatmeal.

He swore under his breath as he extricated his mushy elbow from his breakfast and snatched the hovering paper out of the air by his ear. The paper was folded into an origami knot, and Draco unfolded it rapidly, seething and picturing the myriad things he would do to whoever had interrupted his early morning sulk.

"Oh, for-"he exclaimed, when he saw what was, or wasn't, on the paper. Who on earth would go to the trouble of annoying someone with an empty piece of parchment?

"What is that, Draco?" Pansy asked timidly from where she was safely ensconced several feet away from Draco. Not that there was anyone willing to sit between them, of course.

"Nothing," he said, dropping the empty note into his bag. He spelled his robe clean at the elbow, and no one dared to mention the rather paler patch of cloth on his right sleeve for the rest of the day.

Over at the Griffyndor table, Harry suppressed an urge to cackle evilly.

The bait had been cast. The fish, it seemed, had bitten.

Humming, Harry turned back to his breakfast. It had taken some time to set everything up just so, but soon…yes, soon…

"Harry, mate?" Ron said with his mouth half-full with eggs. "Y'know you're doing a really weird evil cackle, right?"

Harry cleared his throat and forced himself to assume a calm expression. "Just thinking of some plans I made about Malfoy."

Hermione sighed from where she sat opposite of Ron. "You're still going on about him? You just keep getting into more trouble when you antagonize him."

"It's not like that!" Harry quickly interjected before Hermione could start ranting about the rules and fighting. "I was thinking of making a truce, sort-of, but Malfoy's not likely to accept it at this late date. Therefore, I have made a plan to get him to be, shall we say, more amenable to my, ahem, overtures."

"Stop leering like that, Harry, it doesn't suit you. What sort of plan?" Hermione asked.

Harry smiled fondly at her. "Well, it's a secret plan, isn't it?"

He got to his feet and slung his bag over his shoulders. "See you in class, then?"

Hermione stared after Harry in exasperation. She was obviously debating the practicality of chasing Harry down and forcing Veritaserum down his throat in order to find out what sort of devious deeds he was up to. Ron swallowed the large mouthful of eggs with difficulty. He turned calmly to Hermione.

"Are you going to eat your toast?"

"Really, Ron," she snapped. "Don't you care that your best friend is likely to get himself into some sort of trouble?"

"It's Harry," he said. "When isn't he getting into some sort of trouble?"

"Yes, but we should try to keep him out of it."

Ron scratched his wiry red head. "Well, if he gets caught, all Dumbledore'll give him is a slap on the wrist."

"Yes, or he'll ambush Malfoy and Malfoy will decide to aim a Killing Curse at him. Do think beyond your next meal, Ronald."

Ron cringed. He hadn't heard a waspish tone like that since his mum's constant reminders of the time he had been de-gnoming the garden when he was seven and slung a gnome right through the kitchen window. His mum had been in a sour mood for weeks. "Er, maybe we should do something to help him out?"

"Indeed," Hermione said decisively. "We will watch him like a hawk! Do not let him out of our sight. Ron, you will be with him at all times at night, and even when he goes to the loo. Do not give him even the smallest chance to slip away. We will protect him from all comers, even from himself if necessary! Come, we shall go find him and begin our quest!"

Ron gulped his pumpkin juice and followed her out of the Great Hall, with her ranting the whole way. Girls were barmy, the whole lot of them.

Potter, Draco decided, was definitely making him nervous.

All through Transfiguration, he had given him the most intense stares, and now, in Potions, Potter's cauldron had almost exploded when he wouldn't stop watching him. It was most disconcerting.

Potter must be planning something.

Draco sighed. It seemed that once again he would have to be on the lookout for various tricks and ambushes. No doubt Potter had come to the conclusion that he needed more detentions, or perhaps he blamed him for the detentions they already had.

No matter. Draco would be a very poor Slytherin if he couldn't even handle a few attacks from a Gryffindor. At least Potter didn't enlist the help of his cronies, so that the odds were against him. Merlin knew that Crabbe and Goyle were hopeless in a magical fight. To make it worse, Potter was even wrecking his relationship with Professor Snape. His mentor lambasted Potter with snide comments constantly, and had taken Draco aside and tried to impress him with the importance of remaining aloof and discreet. Now he constantly gave Draco looks of disappointment for not living up to the potential of Slytherin house.

Draco looked up from the dandelions he was chopping for his Unctuous Unction. He slid his eyes around towards Potter. He had his head lowered over his cauldron, but when Draco looked, he seemed to sense his gaze and turned to look at him. Faced with that bottle green gaze, Draco snapped his eyes back to his cauldron. He could tell by the rising heat that his ears were bright red with embarrassment.

Sometimes, Potions could be an excruciatingly long class.

It wasn't until he was in bed early that night that Draco had another chance to look at the mysterious paper from that morning. It fell out of his Transfiguration textbook when he pulled it out to do some last minute studying. Thinking it a stray piece of scrap paper, he started to do his homework on it.

"Mm, so I'll write this-The Graham's Principle of animate to animate transfiguration is argued by many scholars to be extremely fallacious. The only wizard rumoured to attempt one such transfiguration successfully was Frederick the Fatty…"

Draco almost ruined his bedspread by spilling his bottle of ink when his paper wrote back to him.

_I thought it was Frederick the Fashionable._

Draco poked the parchment with his wand. Several surreptitious spells confirmed that there seemed to be no malicious curses on the paper at least. "Who is that?" he wrote back furiously.

_Does it matter?_

"Yes. I'm not stupid enough to write to someone I can't see."

_Right, you wouldn't be,_ the paper mused.  _I'm human, anyway, so you don't have to worry. The paper isn't cursed either._

"So why did you send me this? For a late night chit-chat?"

_More like a late night chat-up. I fancy you, and thought maybe this way you wouldn't reject me straight off the bat._

Draco snorted. "You know, this is a really cheesy way to ask someone out."

_Er…I was hoping it would be more romantic._

"Look," Draco wrote. "You could be anyone. You could be Millicent Bulstrode, or Longbottom, or even, God forbid, a  _Weasley_. I don't know who you are, and I don't want to chat with you if I'm going to be disappointed. I don't even know if you're a bloke or a bird."

_I'm a male, in your year. I'm not anyone you mentioned though. Is my gender going to be a problem?_

"No, I prefer men anyway. Are you in Slytherin?"

_Not in your house, but at least I'm not a Hufflepuff._

"I'll have you know that Huffles throw the best orgies," Draco protested.

_You've been to many orgies?_

"One or two," Draco was nonchalant. It wasn't like he got around a lot, but he was no blushing virgin either. Sure, he hadn't  _participated_ that much at yon orgies, but his mystery admirer didn't need to know that. "Is that a problem for you?"

_No…just feeling a little jealous, I guess._

"Of me, or the Huffles?" Draco knew how to flirt with the best of them, and there really wasn't any harm, was there?

_You. I don't like the idea of other guys getting to touch you._

"Jealous, are we?" Draco teased. "We'll have to see if that's a vice or a virtue. Are you fit?"

The words were minutes in coming.  _I wouldn't say that I was pin-up material, but the girls seem to like me fine._

"Modest, or…"

_Probably more modest. I think you'd be fine with how I looked. Oh!_

"What?" Draco scrawled on the page.

_Sorry! I got to go-my roommate just came in! Talk to you tomorrow, same time?_

Draco paused, quill in hand. It wasn't like the guy he liked was going to come around anytime soon, and the mystery bloke was interesting. He could dally with him for a little while more. He set quill to paper.

"Sure."

Harry settled back on his bed and grinned. Stage One of the plan was complete. He hurried to put away his quill and two-way parchment.

"Harry, are you coming?" Ron pulled back the curtain to his bed. "I thought we were going to play a game of chess."

"Sorry," Harry said quickly. "I must have forgotten. And you shouldn't just pull back the curtains so quickly. What if I had been wanking or something?"

Ron grinned. "Ah, but you weren't, were you? Come on, then."

Harry sighed and got out of bed. He had an idea of how to get rid of Ron and Hermione, but he wished that he didn't have to resort to such drastic measures. They were his best friends after all, but lately they had been acting like he was up to some dastardly plan. True, he was up to something, but no one could say that it was so  _bad._  Maybe.

Harry sighed. The whole friend thing could sometimes be such a pain. Which they would most likely think he was when he locked them into one of the many broom closets throughout the castle. At least if they were mad at him, Ron wouldn't always be after him to play chess. Ron always trounced him rather badly, so Harry didn't see why it was so important that he participate. Once again, he resigned himself to an evening of a game only made amusing by the pieces could smash themselves to pieces.

The games left him with a lot of time to think. It was how Harry conceived of his best harebrained schemes, after all. Harry cast an eye over the nearly deserted common room from his spot at the chess board. Hermione was safely buried in several books rather than observing Harry like a hawk. He leaned in conspiratorially towards Ron.

"Hey," he said under his breath. "I have a favour I need too ask you."

"What's that?" Ron asked rather loudly.

"Shh! I'm trying to have a covert conversation here!" Harry hissed.

"Oh, sorry," Ron said, lowering his voice dramatically. "Bishop to D4. What's that?"

"I need you to help me tomorrow. I know Hermione assigned you to be my watchdog, but can you look the other way for ten or twenty minutes tomorrow? I really have to do something privately," he whispered.

"I dunno," Ron said. "Hermione thinks you're going to ambush Malfoy and get into major trouble the second we look away."

"No, no, I meant it when I said I wanted to form a truce. I thought we could, you know, put our differences behind us."

Ron bit his lip. "I suppose it would be nice if you weren't always trying to kill each other…and he might stop insulting me…just be careful, okay?"

"Oh, I will," Harry assured him. "I have it all planned out."

Later, in the dark, warm confines of his bed, Ron would reflect on the fact that Harry seemed rather fond of evil laughs nowadays. ' _Must have something to do with defeating Voldemort, or something_ ,' he figured as he drifted into sleep.

Happily for the Slytherins, Draco was in a rather cheerful mood the next day. Having mysterious admirers did wonders for the ego, even if said admirers failed to rhapsodize on all the wonderful facets of one's looks and personality. Still, there was always tonight. A long night of brooding had convinced Draco to give his mystery man a chance, so long as he wasn't fibbing about his acceptability to Draco in regards to his looks. Lying about something like that was a deal-breaker.

Therefore, he was happily chatting with Pansy about the latest style of dress robes and drenching his favourite blueberry pancakes with syrup when an owl dropped a package right onto his plate.

"Darn," Draco said. "That's the second breakfast in a row ruined by UFO's."

"What are those?" Pansy asked.

Draco fished the soggy package out of his pancakes. He eyed them sadly. They were so popular that all the rest were gone at his table. "Unidentified Flying Owls. Though I suppose the first wasn't really an owl…I've had the worst luck with them and food lately."

"Oh?" Pansy said, looking from her plate to Draco's and back again. She decided that even if he was a prat sometimes, he was her best friend and she loved him. "Here, you can have the rest of my pancakes."

"Thank you!" he said, happily pulling her plate over. They really were his favourite.

"Aren't you going to open that?" Pansy asked him once he was replete with pancake goodness.

"Oh, right." Draco pulled the package over and began to open it, being extremely careful to keep from getting syrup on his hands from the sticky bottom. Luckily it was rather small, so even smeared with half his breakfast it didn't take long to open.

"Ohh!" Pansy squealed when she saw what it was. Draco's eyebrows shot to his hairline. Curled in the box was a soft black leather collar studded with emeralds. The silver clasp had a little loop for attaching a leash, and the tag hanging from it read, " _From Your Secret Admirer"_.

Draco shivered. The sleek sensuality of the gift was giving him some very naughty ideas, where he was naked, on his hands and knees with a leash attached to the collar at his neck, and he looks up through his eyelashes at the man on the end of the lead-

"It's beautiful," Pansy gushed, breaking rather rudely into his fantasy. "Who's it from?"

Draco shrugged, carefully slipping the collar back into his pocket, spelling it to remain firmly shut. "Some secret admirer. He won't tell me who he is."

" _He?_ " Pansy queried knowingly. "Are you finally over your crush on Potter?"

Draco glared at her. "No, but it's not bloody likely that Potter will ever give me the time of day. He'd probably sooner shag an acromantula than me."

Pansy snorted a little at that. "Can you imaging the Weasel's reaction if he did?"

Draco sniggered at the thought. "Maybe this bloke will keep my mind off a certain someone, you know?"

Pansy patted his arm. "I'm glad you're finally moving on, darling. You spent a lot of time wanting what you can't have."

"That's my Pansy, blunt as ever."

"Shush, you. Now are you going to wear that lovely collar? It is to your tastes, isn't it?"

"Maybe later, when I've gotten to know this bloke better. I don't even know what he looks like." Draco said. "I don't want to rush into anything."

Pansy nodded. "I can't blame you for not wanting to be hurt."

"It's not  _that_ , per se-"

"Yes, well, a wise decision then. Now, we'd best be going. Class starts soon."

Across the hall, Potter clapped Weasley on the shoulder. Weasley grinned and nodded, as though Potter had just complemented or thanked him. Draco ignored them. It had nothing to do with him, after all.

Draco flew through the day in a haze, happy with the knowledge that somewhere someone liked and cared for  _him_ , and they weren't even from the same house. Since Slytherins were so reviled, no one ever tried to get more than a one-off with them. Somehow, the leather collar smacked of possessiveness and ownership, and a depth of feeling that had never before been directed at Draco. Certainly, Draco had crushed on Potter, but the feeling returned was rather intoxicating. He might be able to forgive his mystery man many things just for the floating feeling that had risen up in Draco.

Thus, Draco found himself sealing and silencing his bed curtains that night, when his roommates were still shuffling about getting ready for bed. He laid out quill and ink, and turned to the parchment.

"Hello?" he wrote. "Are you there?" He waited with bated breath for what seemed like eternity before there was a reply.

_Yeah, I'm here. Sorry for the delay. One of my friends has been hanging over me a lot._

"Not ashamed of me, are you?" Draco asked, only a little teasing in his mind. Slytherins were used to being the shame of the school, and he could see his mystery bloke being ashamed of him.

_Of course not. I just sometimes want to have some secrets, you know? Besides, if you totally reject me, I won't have to put up with all the looks of pity._

"I know how that feels," Draco replied. "I suppose they mean well, though."

_Ha. They'd better. I think I'm going to go mad if they keep this up much longer._

"Heh. By the way, you sent the collar, right?"

_Yes. Do you like it? You weren't wearing it today, and I figured you might have thought I was being presumptuous._

"You were, but I liked it. I didn't wear it because I don't even know you well yet. I haven't met you in person, and I don't want to just jump into something."

_Pretty cautious, aren't you?_

"I liked someone for a long time," Draco wrote thoughtfully after a brief pause. "It hurt when he didn't return my regard. I don't want to make the same mistakes again."

_I'm sorry._

"Don't be, it's not like it's your fault." Draco added a little winking face to his sentence. "So you were hoping I would wear your collar, eh?"

_Hm-hmm. I wanted to see you in it. I guess this is okay though. When you wear it, I want you to only think of me._

Draco blushed. "I will. Though that only works if you're worth thinking about."

_Oh, I will be._

"So certain now?"

_Definitely. When we get together, I'm going to make your nerves scream with pleasure. Or maybe I'll just make you scream in pleasure._

Draco felt a tingle go down his spine. "I suppose you've got a plan for this, do you?"

_Yeah. I'd take you somewhere, one of the rooms in the dungeons maybe, and I'd tie you up, chain you to the wall. I might gag you, but maybe I won't, so I can hear your beautiful moans unimpeded._

Draco swallowed drily. His hand shook as he replied. "Do go on."

_I'd cut those robes off your sexy little body bend you over facing the wall. I'd spread your legs nice and wide, so I could see your balls and a little of your hard prick against the wall. I think I might lick you all over, but maybe I'll wait until after I get out my paddle and apply it to your backside while you tell me what a bad boy you are._

"Fuck."

_No, that's next. I'll make it so good for you, Draco. I want you so much._

"You're really going to tie me up?" Draco's swollen cock throbbed between his thighs, squeezed together to give him some pressure.

_Oh yes. I'll tell you what a naughty boy you are. Do you want to be dominated, or would you rather do it to me?_

Draco drew in a shuddery breath. "Can we meet somewhere?"

Hermione wasn't quite sure what happened. One moment she was pestering Harry about what he was doing out of his bed so late at night, and the next she had been shoved into a cleaning cupboard with Ron. When she got out of there she was going to be so mad. Even if Ron felt very nice pressed against her, and kissed really well.

Draco stood outside the door tucked into the corner of the chilly dungeons. He had followed his mystery admirers' instructions, and now stood in front of a weathered wooden door in nothing but his green silken pyjamas (Slytherin green, of course). Draco shivered, hating himself for giving in to curiosity and lust and foolish hope. Opening the door, he slipped inside.

It was an abandoned classroom apparently, the desks pushed up against the wall. One had been separated from the rest, and was directly in front of some manacles that had been transfigured securely to the wall. Some items had been placed on the desk, but he wasn't close enough to see them. Damn, he was getting hard.

"Don't turn around," a voice whispered in his ear. It sounded hauntingly familiar, but Draco couldn't place it. "I want you to go to the table and put on the sheepskin cuffs. Then put your wrists in the manacles."

He hesitated. This was a lot of trust to put in someone he had all of two conversations with, and those on an anonymous piece of parchment-oh, god! Was that a tongue tasting his ear? Draco leaned his head back and moaned as his admirers' tongue traced the shell of his ear, dipping down to nibble his delicate earlobe.

A warm arm snaked around his waist, pulling him to rest against a lean, strong body behind him, one that was apparently very interested in current proceedings. Draco almost screamed when he felt a hot palm pressing into him through his silk pyjamas.

"Fuck, please," he gasped, pressing back against the warm male body behind him. "I want…"

"Shh," the voice soothed. "Do what I said; everything will be  _perfect_ , so perfect, let me take care of you."

Draco couldn't resist. He turned his head a little, trying to see his admirer, but the room was empty behind him.

"Ah, ah, ah," the voice chided in his ear, invisible. "No peeking."

Draco snapped his head forward. From his spot in the room, the manacles and desk loaded with accessories seemed to fill his vision. "Okay," he said, and crossed the room.

The sheepskin cuffs lay on top of a silken sheet, which shielded the rest of the items on the table from view. A surprise he looked forward to. Draco licked his lips, the tension building as he imagined what lay under the black material. He picked up one of the cuffs. He recognized the stuff at the sides from a tutor his father insisted on, one who taught Draco rather a lot about the Muggle world. It was some sort of VeCrow stuff-yes, it was sticking together nicely. Fingers trembling, he wrapped one around each wrist.

He crossed to the manacles. They were attached to the wall at about waist length, but the thin chain had enough length that Draco could easily rest his palms at shoulder height on the wall. The metal was cool to his touch, but he would not feel the chill through the sheepskin. Remembering the notes, he faced the wall and snapped one around each wrist. He felt more vulnerable than ever before, but somehow relieved and unburdened.

He heard something behind him, like clothing dropping to the floor. He tensed, wondering if the stranger behind him just intended to stick it to him cold, and leave. Had he put his trust in someone too quickly? The bloke behind him must have seen his tension, because he felt fingers brush comfortingly across the back of his neck.

"Relax, I just took off my invisibility cloak. Still plenty of time for other things."

'So that's why I didn't see him when I came in,' Draco thought. 'He was wearing a-' His blood, so hot a moment ago, chilled in his veins.

He knew of only one non-Slytherin seventh-year with an invisibility cloak. He twisted in his bonds to meet green eyes with his own.

"Potter!" Draco spluttered, shaking with outrage. The guy he'd been hot for, had  _trusted_ , was Potter? The one guy who hated Draco more than anything? "Nice trick, Potter. Mind letting me go now?"

Potter raised an eyebrow. "Now why would I do that? You were gagging for it just a minute ago."

"That was before I knew that it was you! Let me guess…Creevy's around somewhere waiting to take a picture of Draco Malfoy tied up with a stiffie."

"That's not why I tied you up!" Potter protested. "I didn't do it as a joke or a prank or to get revenge."

Draco snorted, trying to ignore the way that Potter seemed to be gravitating towards him. "Like there's any chance in hell you'd do it for any other reason." His heart clenched in his chest. If only Potter meant it when he said he wanted Draco. Damn, why was Potter getting closer? A few more steps and they'd be touching.

Potter had a calm, thoughtful look on his face that Draco had never seen before. "I know you want me. I overheard you talking to your Slytherin friends about it."

"What?" Draco squawked. "Oh, how Slytherin of you. I suppose it didn't take you long to decide to take advantage of my weakness." Potter's breath ghosted over Draco's skin.

"Well, maybe I wanted to take advantage of you a little. But it was more of a mutual benefit thing. Besides, you've been such a bad boy, haven't you? Liking me for so long and never saying anything." Potter's fingers slipped under his pyjama top, brushing against the skin at his waist. "Trust me, Draco. I'll make it so good for you. Do you really want me to stop?"

Draco squeezed his eyes shut. He didn't care if Potter laughed later and told everyone what a twisted little slut he was, just so he didn't stop  _now_. He groaned and arched towards the fingers on his skin. "No, don't…please don't stop, oh please."

Potter looked inordinately pleased. He leaned forward and ghosted a kiss over the corner of Draco's mouth. "Turn back around, Draco."

Draco faced the wall again. He reached down and clutched the chain, needing something to hold on to. A sound behind him told him that Potter was removing the silk sheet covering the items on the desk.

Silk travelled gently over his neck and followed the curve of his jaw to his lips. "May I?" Potter asked. "Do you trust me enough for this?"

'It doesn't matter,' Draco thought. 'I'll take anything you'll give me." Potter was waiting for an answer though, so he nodded. Soft silk slipped between his lips, and Draco moaned as the material caught on the hairs at the back of his head where Potter tied a firm knot. It wasn't uncomfortable, and the silk was heavy on his tongue, and swiftly getting wet with his juices. The texture felt delicious, even if the taste was not.

"I was going to cut your clothes off you before," Potter whispered into Draco's ear, "but you look so divine in those pyjamas it would be a shame if I never saw you in them again." He ran a tongue up Draco's neck to the hollow just below his ear. "I suppose I'll just have to improvise."

The buttons on his pyjama top were unfastened one by one, calloused hands sliding inside after each one to tease the flesh inside. Draco arched up, needful, into those hot hands. He'd never felt this way with anyone else, the way that his skin was galvanized with those hands as the contact point, the fulcrum for the electricity that poured through him.

When his shirt was unbuttoned the fingertips trailed lazily over his chest. A fingernail caught a nipple, and Draco cried out against the soaking gag. "You like that, don't you?" Potter murmured, the finger circling Draco's nipple before pinching the little bud hard. Draco felt as though every drop of blood in his body had surged, rising to meet those fingers that produced such an exquisite, centralized pain. If Draco didn't have a gag in his mouth, he might have screamed, though it was certainly no secret how he was feeling with the noises he was making. As it was, he fought to keep his shaking legs from depositing him on the hard floor. He almost felt a sense of relief when Potters hands went to his pyjama bottoms. Maybe the teasing would end.

Or not. When Potter pulled down his pyjamas, he seemed to make it his goal to touch every centimetre of skin on the lower half of his body. Harry's hands squeezed the firm cheeks of his ass, scraped short nails along the insides of his thighs, and even explored the backs of his knees, a zone Draco previously regarded as rather a dead zone for sex.

Potter was deliberately and cruelly ignoring what Draco wanted touched the most.

It wasn't like he didn't try to get Potter to touch him there. He strained and whimpered and bucked under those skilled hands, trying to get what he needed from a man set out to prove how cruel he could be. Potter just chuckled at his antics. "So eager, Draco, and I've only just started touching you." Draco could feel the promise in his words.

Potter moved away, and Draco panicked a little. Shit! He knew that Potter was just messing with him, had wound him up and was just going to leave him there, all hard and wanting so much with every fibre of his being that he was just going to  _explode_ -

And then Potter was back at his side, running his hand down Draco's back from neck to the cleft of his ass, the sensation changing as his hand travelled over silk and then bare skin. His fingers lightly traced Draco's crack, not venturing deep, not yet.

Then something smooth, and hard, and flat was touching his rump.

"I told you I'd spank you, didn't I?"

Draco reached forward, bracing his hands on the wall without being told. He spread his legs in invitation, displaying tight bullocks flush against his body and a red cock that dripped pre-cum. "Good boy," Potter breathed.

Draco felt the cool wood leave his behind, but even so, the first blow was a shock, landing with a sharp crack that echoed through the dungeons. "One," Potter counted, voice husky and low and almost as good as the warm throbbing that travelled straight to his prick. "Oh, yes, such a naughty boy, you must be punished, fuck-two." Draco tried to brace himself, but the second paddle was as much of a shock as the first, and he couldn't help crying out a little.

The paddling continued until Draco was wailing, wishing desperately that he wasn't so far from the wall because  _God_  he needed to grind against something. His arse was starting to feel delightfully warm, and the pain getting to be too much when Potter stopped abruptly. Draco had been making so much noise that he couldn't even remember the last number Potter had called out.

Strangely, the sting didn't go away when Potter stopped. It seemed to intensify in the cool dungeon air, and Draco panted as his rear seemed to burn with an unholy fire.

Potter took Draco's face in his fingers, turning his head to the side. Draco hadn't even noticed when the tears had started pouring down his face, and Potter was oddly tender when he kissed them away. "Do you want me to stop?" Potter asked. Draco shook his head,  _no_.

Potter let go. Behind him, he heard knees hit the floor.

Oh, god, his mouth was on him. Potter's lips felt cool on his fevered flesh, and Draco arched into tongue and lips, silently begging for more. Potter swerved, dipping into his crack, lightly ghosting over his hole. Draco squirmed. His limited experience didn't prepare him for this; the other two blokes had gladly bottomed for him. It was weird, but then the stiffened tip of Potter's tongue circled his entrance, and pushed in and fuck! Draco was going to fall apart if he didn't come soon, but he didn't want this to end so he held it in. That sweet tongue only laved his tight hole for an agonizingly short time before dropping lower to pull Draco's balls in a hot mouth.

The noise Draco let out could only be described as a cross between a squeal and a squeak, but Draco was too preoccupied to be embarrassed at the way he was pushing his hips back at Potter's face, trying to spread his legs wider and needing  _more._

Potter seemed to take pity on Draco, because he released Draco's sensitive, tightening balls and slid around so that he was sandwiched between Draco and the wall. Draco stilled as Potter's hands grasped his hips firmly.

Now that Potter was in front of him, on his knees, Draco could see the hungry, needy look on his face. Potter licked his lips once, and leaned forward.

It was a good thing that Potter held his hips down so firmly because Draco jerked forward at the first touch of his lips. Even after the intense feelings Potter had already introduced him too, Draco was shocked at how good it felt to have that agile tongue taste and tease the pre-cum from his cock.

Potter paid entirely too much attention to his hard, blood filled shaft, ignoring the achingly sensitive head. Draco tried to push it closer to Potters' mouth, but he held Draco's hips frustratingly still, keeping Draco steady as he mouthed his cock. When a hot wet mouth finally descended on the head of his prick, Draco keened against his gag and came.

Potter bravely swallowed down as much as he could, a few drops escaping his mouth to decorate his chin. "You taste pretty good," he said, smiling. Sliding up the wall, he came to rest between Draco's' arms. He licked and sucked at Draco's lips, what parts of them he could get from where they peeked out from his silken gag. Draco's lower face quickly became slick and sticky with saliva from the both of them.

Potter rutted against Draco, his clothed cock hard and the rough material of his trousers sliding over the sensitive skin of Draco's sated cock. Draco pressed back, knowing what Potter needed, but unable to provide anymore.

When Potter came with a litany of  _ohgod_ 's and  _fuckyes_ 's, he buried his face in Draco's neck, hot breaths panting into tender flesh as Potter's messy hair tickled Draco's chin. Potter nuzzled him there for a moment before he moved back far enough to untie Draco's gag. Draco hadn't realized how sore his tongue and jaw were from biting and pushing at the gag, but Potter seemed happy to use his mouth to soothe and caress the strain away, tasting of chocolate and the bitter taste of Draco's own come. Potter favoured Draco with a saucy grin.

"Told you it'd be good, right?"

Draco pressed him against the wall, and stole another quick kiss. "Mm, sure was," he said, voice hoarse and low. "Satisfied your curiosity, then?"

Potter must have heard the bitter undertones in his deliberately carefree words. "It takes a lot more than that to satisfy my curiosity."

Draco kept his voice light. "Once wasn't good enough for you, Potter?"

"There's a lot we still haven't tried." He slipped a hand over Draco's backside, brushing his hole with a finger. He looked deep into Draco's eyes-the intimacy was almost too much. "I don't give up what's mine easily. But you still need to decide whether you want to be mine." Potter slipped out of his arms, and went behind him. Draco could hear him gathering up his things in the silken cloth. There was a rustling sound and a murmered spell, and the cuffs sprang loose and disappeared into the wall.

When Draco turned around the room was empty, and he wanted to cry at the sense of loss he felt. Afraid that Potter was still watching, he kept himself from doing so, and stoicly straightened his clothes. He prepared to sneak back to his dorm when he saw that the wet tie was still on the floor, and he took that with the sheepskin cuffs back to his dorm.

As he slipped into bed, lying on his front to keep his heated backside off the mattress, he replayed Potter's words in his head. He had a decision to make, but he still didn't know if Potter had been serious in his words.

"I still can't believe you, Harry!"

Hermione's indignant voice broke into Harry's pensive thoughts. He looked up from his breakfast, nonplussed. "What, Hermione? I wasn't paying attention."

She looked at him sharply. "You haven't been paying attention for the last few days, which is really annoying because it's hard to yell at you  _for locking us in a closet_! For  _hours_!"

"Yeah," Ron agreed, a dreamy look on his face. "It was great."

Hermione flushed. " _Ron,_ that's not the point!"

Harry perked up the undertones swirling through that statement. "Oh? Something happened?"

"No, no, nothing happened," Hermione said tightly, glaring at Ron. He gave her a look that clearly asked how this was his fault.

Harry's lips twitched. "Right, of course." Sometimes it was just easier not to argue with Hermione.

When Hermione started berating Ron for having the tact of a gnat, he allowed his attention to drift again. His eyes wandered over to the Slytherin table, but Malfoy wouldn't meet his eyes. He sighed and wished that Malfoy would at least tell him whether his offer had been rejected, or if it was even still in consideration. It had been three days, and Malfoy wouldn't even look at him.

Harry noticed the other students leaving the hall. Morosely, he rose to join them. Ron and Hermione argued behind him the entire way to Potions. When they arrived at Snape's classroom, Harry resolutely set up his cauldron, not looking at anyone in the room.

It wasn't until halfway through his Polyjuice Potion base that he saw something that made his heart slam in his chest.

Malfoy was wearing his collar. The one that Harry had given to him.

_When you wear it, I want you to only think of me._

Malfoy looked up then, giving Harry an intense stare. He didn't know how steel grey eyes could be so hard and soft at the same time. "Malfoy?" Harry asked.

"I made my decision," Malfoy said softly, the words carrying easily across the quiet classroom. The entire class stopped working at the civil exchange, perhaps hoping to see a fight right in Potions. What they saw next nearly blew their minds with shock.

Harry stood, and walked over to the Slytherin side of the classroom. He stopped only a few inches away from where Malfoy stood at his station. "You're sure?" he asked. "I don't want to do anything you don't want."

Malfoy nodded, shoulders squared and eyes firm. "I'm sure. I want this. I don't care about anything else, Potter."

Harry smiled, a sweet and tender smile. "You should start calling me Harry, don't you think?" He punctuated his question by kissing Malfoy.

The entire class erupted in an uproar. Pansy squealed in delight for her friend, Ron turned a frightening shade of magenta, Crabbe and Goyle looked terribly confused, Hermione shrieked and spluttered incoherently, and Blaise Zabini discreetly passed Neville Longbottom some money, who winked at Zabini and blew him a kiss.

"Potter! Malfoy!" Snape roared at the sight in front of him. "What in Merlin's name is going on?"

They managed to separate a little, which was fortunate as the liplock they were in wasn't very conducive to breathing. They shared a look at each other. The whole class quieted down to see what this was about.

"Er, I offered Malfoy a truce?" Harry said weakly.

"A very nice truce, of which terms were  _very_  agreeable," Draco emphasized. Snape turned an unhealthy shade of green.

"You're not even gay," Ron exclaimed.

"Oh, he's  _very_ gay," Draco said suggestively. He was apparently in a rather good mood in light of recent events.

"Malfoy, Ron's going to have a heart attack if you keep saying things like that," Harry said.

"I wouldn't mind really. And shouldn't you call me Draco, too? We're together now. We  _are_ together now, aren't we?" Malfoy seemed suddenly unsure.

Harry smiled goofily at him, wanting to wipe that little frown off Malfoy's face, no matter how cute his pout was. "Of course we are. I don't do those sort of things with just anyone, Draco."

Malfoy-no,  _Draco-_ grinned and pulled Harry close. He took a black silk tie out of his pocket. "Think we'll find a use for this again?" Harry smiled and leaned in for another kiss.

"What the-" an angry Snape yelled. "That's my tie! I've been missing it for ages!"

"Oops," Harry said. "Right…that's our cue to RUN!"

The two teen boys bolted out of the room as though the devil was on their heels. "Fifty points from both of you for molesting a Professor's attire!" Snape shouted after them.

A buzz of whispers filled the room after they left. Snape slumped into his chair, too shell-shocked to care as his classroom erupted into exited or tearful (if not both) whispers. In the confusion that followed, Zabini and Longbottom took the opportunity to do some snogging of their own.

'I need a good stiff drink," Snape thought in a wave of shock. 'Or a lengthy stay at St. Mungo's."

He reviewed the tragic events of the morning in his mind, and then stood.

"Class dismissed," he ordered, and strode out of the room. There was a rather nice bottle of cognac in his room that he was desperately in need of.


End file.
